"Love is a
difficult and dangerous emotion," answered Alaric. "I find that I do
better without it."
"Then why do you
pursue me?" Rowena turned and regarded him gravely. She did not care to admit
it, but she had felt a sense of desolation at his response. "I suppose it
would be more flattering to be considered collectible than to be an instrument
for revenge, but I cannot say I find either prospect precisely enticing."
Alaric frowned. "I
do not intend to use you for either purpose, Rowena."
"Then I repeat
my question. What is your interest in me?"
Alaric moved towards
her, stopping only when he was so close to her that they almost touched. "Do
I need a reason, Rowena? Didn't that kiss say enough to you?"
Rowena's eyes dropped
from his. "It was very interesting, my lord," she admitted. "But
I hardly think that a shared enjoyment of kissing is enough to bring us
together."
Alaric laughed
softly, a sensuous, dark sound. "You might be surprised, Rowena." He
raised one hand and stroked her cheek. He marveled at the softness of her skin,
like rose petals. Another fierce spark of desire shot through him. His thumb
grazed her full lower lip, and Rowena struggled to hide her tremor of response
from him.
"And the
circumstances also make it quite impossible," continued Rowena, attempting
to ignore the intimate touch. "Even were I so foolish as to wish for you
to ruin me, my aunt will never allow me to be a friend of yours so long as
Malcolm is blamed for the death of Alfred Ingram."
"I had not
thought you so easily cowed by your family, Rowena." Alaric spoke
absently, fascinated by the glimmer of the moonlight on her eyes.
"I am not,"
said Rowena defensively. "But I will not allow people to believe you are using
me as a sort of revenge against my family. It will only make me appear foolish,
and you more devilish."
"But you do not
personally object to knowing me better," said Alaric.
Rowena frowned. "That
depends on what you mean by knowing you better. I would be glad to be your
friend, provided the matter of Malcolm's innocence is settled."
"Friends? Friends
do not kiss each other as we have, Rowena."
"Then we shall
not kiss anymore," said Rowena crossly. She tried to step back from him,
but he grabbed her wrists and held them lightly in his hands, gazing down at
her with a brooding expression.
"If I try to
clear Malcolm's name, you will be my friend?" he asked slowly. Alaric had
no doubts that Malcolm Arlingby was guilty of murder, but he was willing to humor
Rowena if it meant he could spend more time in her company.
A brilliant smile
broke out on Rowena's face. "I would be so grateful, my lord," she
said eagerly. "Indeed, I would like to help you in the attempt. We could
work together to discover the true killer."
Alaric's eyebrows
rose in surprise. "Hunting murderers is hardly work for young ladies."
"But I would be
of inestimable value," urged Rowena. "I have access to my family's
information and it would not be at all unusual if I were to ask questions about
Malcolm, whereas anything you might say would immediately be suspect. And I
helped my father with his scholarly work, so I have a trained, analytical mind.
Please say that I may work with you."
Alaric pondered her
suggestion. He had no hopes of clearing Malcolm's name, and he doubted Rowena's
abilities as an investigator, but if she were involved in this it would give
him an excuse to have more meetings with her. And soon enough, he was sure, he
would be able to convince her not only of the futility of attempting to clear
her brother, but also of his own desirability. He had felt in her kiss that she
was not immune to him; it would not take long for him to build that flame into
a bonfire.
"Very well,"
he said. "I will let you help me. But you must obey my instructions. I
will not have you endangering yourself."
Rowena nodded
eagerly. "When shall we begin, my lord?"
Alaric bit his lip. Convinced
of Malcolm's guilt, he had no idea of how to begin a sham investigation.
"I will make
some preliminary contacts and I will report to you again tomorrow at this time.
Will you be here?"
"Certainly."
She gave him a grateful look. "You will see, my lord, how successful this
endeavor will be."
"Far more than
you know," murmured Alaric. "And now, Rowena, I suggest we seal this
agreement with a kiss."
Before she could
speak he had lifted her chin with his forefinger and brushed his lips gently
against hers. This was not the hard, demanding kiss of earlier, but she still
felt it deeply, a gentle tingling from her head down to her toes. She closed
her eyes briefly and swayed towards him. Alaric smiled.
"Until tomorrow
then, Rowena," he murmured.
Rowena opened her
eyes and blinked at him, dazed. She nodded as he smiled down at her, and
followed him obediently when he led her to the kitchen door and opened it,
urging her in.
"Good night,
Rowena," he said softly. "Pleasant dreams."
"Good night, my
lord." She stood, her shawl hugged tightly about her as he disappeared
into the shadows. A lingering excitement tingled in her veins and she raised
one hand to her lips.
"Nonsense,"
she said aloud. "I am only doing this to help my brother."
The kitchen cat,
surprised by her voice, mewed in annoyance. Rowena started. "It is the
truth," she told the animal fiercely. She spun on her heel and ran up the
stairs to her bedroom.
Alaric
glared across his desk at the white-haired lawyer. Bright afternoon sunlight
slanted across the library, glinting off the highly polished furniture and
illuminating the priceless works of art that decorated the walls. The
Donatello, forgotten in the Earl's newest interest, had disappeared behind a
sheaf of papers. Alaric tapped his fingers impatiently on the desktop.
"But
my lord, I do not see why you care to look into the Arlingby matter,"
protested the lawyer. "It would only bring forward old questions that are
best left unasked."
"Only
if you presume I am guilty of murdering Alfred Ingram," said Alaric
coldly. "Do you believe that I killed him, Mackley?"
"No,
no of course not, my lord," stammered Mackley. "But you cannot deny
that many do. It will cause a great deal of unnecessary talk if word should get
out about this."
Then we
will have to make sure that word does not get out. Personally, I do not care
what the world says, but there is a lady involved." Alaric placed the tips
of his fingers together and gazed at Mackley over them.
"A
lady?" repeated the lawyer.
"Precisely."
Alaric frowned. "I do not want her name involved in this inquiry."
Mackley's
brow furrowed. "Is the woman in question Lady Bingham?"
Alaric
glowered at his lawyer. "I beg your pardon?"
Mackley
flushed. "I only thought that since her husband's death you might wish to
clear your name once and for all in order to marry the lady yourself," he
said, his voice trailing off at the look of amazement on Alaric's face.
"You
are my lawyer, Mackley, and are to follow my orders without speculating on
them. Do you understand?" Alaric's voice was icy.
"Yes,
my lord," answered Mackley, subdued.
The anger
died out of Alaric's face as he gazed at the lawyer. The man had served his
father and himself for many years, and his presumption could be excused on the
basis of long familiarity. Alaric realized with a touch of shame that he had
overreacted. But Lady Bingham was a topic he found difficult to ignore.
"I
have no intention of having anything to do with Lady Bingham," he said in
a much softer voice. "She is in my past and will remain there. The lady I
referred to is simply someone I wish to aid. Her name will be kept out of this."
"Certainly,
my lord. I will look into the matter immediately." Mackley stood and began
to collect his papers. So the rumors were true, he thought. His lordship was
intrigued by Malcolm Arlingby's sister.
He
paused, giving Alaric an uncertain look.
Alaric
sighed. "What is it, Mackley?"
The
lawyer looked uncomfortable. He shifted his feet uneasily on the floor and then
seemed to make up his mind.
"You
should be aware, my lord, that Lady Bingham appears to remain interested in
you," he said in a low voice. "It is said that she claims she will be
married to you by Christmas."
Alaric
smiled mirthlessly. "Is that so? Where did you have this information from,
Mackley?"
"One
of my junior clerks is quite friendly with a clerk in the office of Mr. Bonham,
who represents Lady Bingham. I do my best to stay current on matters that
involve my clients," he said, somewhat defensively.
"And
I thank you for it," murmured Alaric thoughtfully. "Rest assured,
Mackley, that Lady Bingham will not become the Countess of Brayleigh if I have
any control over the outcome."
"Do
you have another candidate in mind?" asked the lawyer.
Alaric
raised an eyebrow. "Is there a reason for your inquiry?"
"Only
that the estate needs an heir," answered Mackley stoutly. "I would be
glad to see you married, my lord."
Alaric
grinned. "My cousin Charles would be quite capable of taking my place were
I to suddenly disappear, Mackley. But I appreciate your concern. No, I have no
one in mind for the position."
The
lawyer bowed politely. "I hope you will change your mind, sir. I look
forward to my son acting as lawyer to yours."
Alaric
watched absently as Mackley exited the study. Despite his disclaimer, the
lawyer's words had brought a vision to his mind of a life with Rowena at his
side, their son the heir to Brayleigh. He shook his head to dispel the image. It
was nonsense. She was lovely and charming, and he would like to set her in a
frame to preserve her forever, but one could not collect people, at least not
on a permanent basis. He knew his longing for her would soon dissipate, as his
desires always did. Once an item had been added to his collection, he
immediately began to search for something new. He would doubtless grow weary of
Rowena soon.
"What
a crush," observed Rowena, gazing about with annoyance. She, along with
Lord and Lady Belmont, was attempting to make her way to the Belmont's box at
the King's Theatre, and Rowena was finding her patience sorely tried. Usually
she enjoyed the opera, less for the music than for the extraordinary display
the members of the
ton
put on, bedecked in their finest fashions, jewels
glittering everywhere, but tonight Rowena found herself anxious for the evening
to be over. She wondered if Lord Brayleigh had uncovered any information about
the murder of Alfred Ingram.
"It
is always so," agreed Lady Belmont. She made her way into the plush box,
and proceeded to seat herself, fanning vigorously. "Goodness, look at that
ridiculous dress Agatha Brierton is wearing. It makes her look enormous."
Rowena
scanned the five tiers of boxes, finally sighting the object of her aunt's
scorn. She nodded vaguely.
"It
is hideous," she agreed. Her eyes continued to search the boxes, crowded
with bejeweled lords and ladies, and then she turned towards the pit, where the
fops and dandies crowded, showing off their extraordinary interpretations of
fashion. A slight frown crossed her face.
"Are
you looking for someone, child?" asked Lady Belmont. "I cannot
imagine who it might be. All the world is here tonight."
"All
the world, indeed," said Rowena. She refused to admit, even to herself,
that she had felt a jolt of disappointment when she realized that Lord
Brayleigh was not present.
Lady
Belmont glanced around the boxes and then suddenly froze, a gasp escaping her
lips. "Such effrontery," she whispered to her husband. "One
wonders how she dares."
Lord
Belmont grunted, and Rowena followed the direction of their gaze. Lady Bingham,
dressed in an alluringly sheer gown of blue silk, was waving in their direction,
a beautiful smile lighting her face. Lady Belmont drew back into the shadows of
the box.
"Whatever
shall I do if she tries to talk to me?" she demanded. "This is
impossible. First Brayleigh makes a nuisance of himself and now this! We shall
never live it down."
"Quiet,
Louisa. The girl is here," said Lord Belmont, glancing at Rowena, who was
watching her aunt with avid curiosity.
Lady
Belmont started and closed her mouth with a snap. Rowena leaned forward,
anxious to find the cause of the excitement.
"Whatever
is going on?" she asked. "Why is Lady Bingham waving at you?"
Lady
Belmont gave her a wild glance and sighed with relief as the curtains opened. "Hush,
Rowena. The opera is beginning."
Rowena
sat back in her chair, frustrated and curious. Her aunt's words and actions had
been very odd. Nothing Lady Belmont had said previously indicated that there
was any reason Lady Bingham might be showing such familiarity. Indeed, her aunt
had expressed only scorn for the baroness.
Rowena
glanced over at Lady Bingham's box and was startled to find that lady's eyes
resting on her with a speculative gaze. Her surprise must have shown, for the
baroness smiled wickedly. She turned to her companion, a red-haired gentleman
with a dissolute countenance, and said something that made him glance up at
Rowena and laugh. Rowena flushed and looked away. She determined to demand an
explanation from her aunt at the first interval.
But when
the interval came Lord Belmont, with a glance at his wife, excused himself to
go talk to a friend, and Lady Belmont immediately launched into a long and
rapid discussion of the relative merits of the woman singing the lead part, not
pausing for breath until the door to the box opened and Mrs. Brierton entered,
her son in tow. A look of relief crossed Lady Belmont's face.
"Agatha!
How delighted I am to see you. What a lovely dress you are wearing. Yellow
becomes you so. And Martin. I daresay you came to speak to Rowena. She will be
delighted to see you again."
Mr.
Martin Brierton, a thin and inarticulate young man of twenty-five, looked at
Rowena and flushed. It was his mother's greatest wish to see him married to
Lady Rowena, the niece of her dear friend Lady Belmont and the heiress to a
handsome fortune. He came forward and seated himself next to Rowena, stammering
a greeting.
Rowena
responded civilly, but Martin's dull conversation failed to hold her attention,
and she found herself reflecting that she much preferred dark men, perhaps a
bit more mature, to young, blonde ones. With an effort she drew her mind back
to the theatre and responded to her companion's polite, if labored, discourse.
"I
tell you, it is positively shocking to see her parading herself about so. Who
would have thought she would be so brazen?"
Rowena's
ears pricked up at Mrs. Brierton's words, and she smiled encouragingly at
Martin to indicate to him she was fascinated by the long and convoluted story
he was telling her of a recent trip to his father's hunting lodge. She turned
slightly in her seat in order to better overhear her aunt's conversation.
"I
live in fear that she will approach me," Rowena heard her aunt say. "I
would be mortified. And Rowena must not find out, of course. It has been bad
enough for her with Brayleigh's inexplicable behavior."
Mrs.
Brierton murmured sympathetically.
"It
is enough to give me a spasm," continued Lady Belmont. "It has nearly
reached the point where I am afraid to show my face in public. If I had not
promised Rowena's father that I would find her a husband, I swear I would fly to
the country."
"Oh
no, you must not do that," soothed Mrs. Brierton. "Think how people
would talk."
"But
they do already," countered Lady Belmont. "At least I should not be
here to listen to it."
"It
is a pity that Brayleigh should have been paying such marked attention to
Rowena prior to this," observed Mrs. Brierton. "It would be best if
she were married swiftly and out of this situation."
"I
can only hope that she will become engaged soon. There are countless men who
are interested of course; the girl is positively headstrong, however, and
wishes to marry for love, if you please." Lady Belmont sighed. "If
she only knew the disaster that hangs over our heads."
"Surely
not a disaster," said Mrs. Brierton. "Lady Bingham would never have
the temerity to speak to you, I am sure."
At that
moment the door to the box opened and Lady Bingham entered, a malicious smile
on her lips. The blue gown, enticing at a distance, was almost indecent up
close, clinging to her figure in an exaggerated manner and leaving little of
her fine bosom to the imagination. A splendid diamond necklace decorated her
deep décolletage, while it was clear that her petticoats had been damped to
encourage her gown to cling to her hips and legs. She swept forward, her bright
blue eyes reflecting considerable amusement as the red-haired man followed in
her wake.
"Lady
Belmont," she exclaimed. "How splendid to see you again. It has been
far too long."
"Twelve
years," said Lady Belmont gloomily.
"Is
it indeed? What a pity that I should be so long without your company,"
exclaimed Lady Bingham. "And Mrs. Brierton. How have you been? Is this
your son? He has grown very handsome."
Lady Bingham
leaned seductively towards Martin, who had scrambled hastily to his feet upon
her entrance. He turned a brilliant shade of red and stammered out a greeting,
his eyes attempting, and failing, to settle anywhere except on her nearly
exposed breasts. Lady Bingham cast him a bewitching smile and then promptly
forgot him.
"And
who is this?" she asked, giving Rowena a curious glance. "I did not
know you had a daughter, Lady Belmont."
"My
niece, Lady Rowena Arlingby," said Lady Belmont repressively.
Lady Bingham
favored Rowena with another of her calculatedly dazzling smiles. "How
delightful," she purred. "Then you are Malcolm's sister. We should be
the very best of friends."
"You
know my brother?" asked Rowena, surprised.
"Very
well indeed," answered Lady Bingham. "You must call on me and we
shall have a comfortable chat. I am also a good friend of another acquaintance
of yours, Lord Brayleigh." She watched Rowena closely she spoke.
Rowena
managed to appear unconcerned, though the words caused a wrenching sensation in
the pit of her stomach. "I am sure you are well-acquainted with any number
of people, Lady Bingham," she replied.